Laurence's POV
2nd May 1998
Swallowing a thick lump in my throat I sped in the direction of the Courtyard near the School's Entrance Hall, the sound of my heavy pants willing me onwards in hopes of finding anyone who looked vaguely like my parents, the tapping of my heavy-weighted shoes accompanying my breaths attempt to drown out the screams of terror and thuds as the body count rises.
They were here; I knew it. They weren't the kind of people to miss this 'amazing' opportunity to serve under the Dark Lord's name, not even if it meant destroying everything their son cared for most in the process. They weren't the most desirable of parents, spending most of their days obeying the orders made by their master then returning home in the early hours of the morning to rest, before heading out and doing the exact same thing around seven hours later - They haven't been arrested yet though, that's something; That something being the one thing that sets my teeth on edge and boils my blood to the point where I'm red with rage; they were good at their jobs. They were good murderers.
Yes, my parents were Death Eaters; so faithful that they served him even when they were known as the 'Knights of Warpurgis' - something that they appeared to be extremely proud of, only bringing it up around the dinner table daily while I was at home for the holidays. They were supposedly involved in the first war, yet I've never heard them mentioned and they're supposed to be The Dark Lord himself's right hand men.
That's correct, I am Laurence Beveridge. Son of Verginious and Aurelia Beveridge; Two of the most wanted Death Eaters in the country, and they were here. In Hogwarts. With him.
I've known of the Dark Lord's plan for quite some time, but never had anyone to mention it to. I wasn't the most popular of people in my year, never having the most friend's yet having countless of enemies, and it's not like Harry Potter and his alliance would ever listen to a 'rotten Slytherin' like myself; I was alone, left to panic and dread the day that has finally came for months.
Dodging another blow from the falling rock I sped even faster, the thumping of my heart and pants causing my form to slow slightly, yet I pushed through it, desperate to be free from the horrors catching up with me. However, through my occasional whimpers and aching chest I failed to keep my watering orbs open, meaning they squeezed shut slightly as I attempted to sprint. That was then yet another blast occurred beside me, forcing my body sideways as the blow rattled my ear drums. I felt myself release an agonising yelp as my form made impact with the concrete that was once below my feet, sending me into an painful position on the floor. Thankfully, I managed to land on my side, giving me enough time to cover the more vulnerable features of my face while broken brick surrounded me. I lay still for countless minutes, giving myself time to attempt to calm myself and allow time for the assuming puffs of gravel to pass.
I couldn't hear anything; I couldn't see anything. Whenever I made an attempt to move my form a severing pain in my left side would alert me into a freezing attempt to make the pain pass. I couldn't bring myself to speak, the terror of the events forcing me into a traumatic void; refusing to allow a single words to pass my lips.
I had no idea how it happened, yet one minute I was on the ground, unable to move a single digit, then the next I was lifted into a seating position. I felt myself tremble as I willed myself to open my eyes once more, sight blurry but managing to pick out recognisable features of what was in front of me. A soft breeze hit me as I stared over at the (lack of) wall in front of me; the explosion. Debris lay in a large pile in front of the wall, highlighting to me of the events that panned out and why I was incapable of movement. Only then did I notice the concerned redhead to my left. His form was blurred, my head rolling back and forth as he lay his hands on me, causing my heart to speed with fear.
